The Last Supper?
by RoseLight
Summary: Solo's competition is simply divine


THE LAST SUPPER?

Parte 1

Illya Kuryakin caught up with his partner at the elevator, where Solo was shrugging into a formal jacket and knotting his tie. "This is some kind of record for you, isn't it?" the Russian teased. "Three months? That's practically going steady."

" I did not realize you studied my love life that closely."

"Just learning from the master," Kuryakin waved his friend aboard the lift. "And where are you off to tonight?"

"Nosy, nosy...does Section 4 have another pool going?"

His friend shrugged. "I'm a spy...I am trained to be nosy."

"I'm a spy. I'm paid to keep secrets." Solo cleared his throat. "Uh..Petite Mouton. Her choice."

"Oh." Even Kuryakin knew Mouton's reputation as New York City's most fashionable dumping ground: far too elegant for any dumpee to create a scene during the break-up announcement. But of course, Mercy was from out of town. Possibly she was ignorant of the restaurant's image.

It would be a pity, thought the blond partner. He had only met Mercedes Chappelle briefly, but she was quiet, gentle, and serious. For Illya's taste, Napoleon had an unfortunate predilection to collect gabby, giggly females. Mercy was an unexpected detour in Solo's social life.

Solo regarded her as different, too; special for a reason he would admit to no one. Mercy had never spent the night with him.

They were both healthy, attractive, single adults, but somehow the course of their relationship had not traveled down that predictable path. Napoleon was frustrated, then fascinated, that this woman could hold his attention with a chaste kiss on the cheek and a quietly but firmly closed door.

He found it a strange relief, not being expected to perform up to his reputation, being cherished for his own sake. Mercy took him seriously, listened deeply, and made him feel like the center of the universe. Mercy herself was centered on an unshakably peaceful core that he had yet to understand or explore. But it was becoming obvious to Solo that he would rather spend an evening in her company than an anonymous, amorous hour with anyone else.

Parte 2

His evening began with more anxiety than appetite. Mercy was unusually skittish and distracted, and avoided his eyes. She drained her second glass of white before she addressed him softly.

"Napoleon," she began with great effort, " I'm a fraud. An imposter. I've been deceiving you."

He was stunned. He'd had classes in psychology, and had sharp natural instincts about people. He trusted so few. Damn, he admitted ruefully, he had not wanted to see what had been right in front of him for weeks.

"Please believe me. I never meant you any harm. When we met it was so...so nice. And I never expected to see you again, so it didn't seem to matter. But now I have to go home, and I'm finding it so difficult to say good-bye." Her eyes brimmed in the candlelight.

"Who are you with?" he inquired coldly.

"I told you. I teach upstate in a prep school, and I'm on sabbatical. Well, more like probation, really. When our members are struggling, St. Julian's sends them to the city to consider their options."

"St. Julian's?" he repeated.

"I've been a member of St. Julian's spiritual community for six years now," she confessed quietly. "I was due to make my life pledge last spring when I…well, there was an incident..."

"Go on."

"I was teaching Contemporary Issues to a group of elite seniors. We were discussing political protest, and we took a field trip to Albany. There was a peace march in progress, we joined in, and" Mercy hung her head. "We got arrested. And the parents were not keen about having to pay bail on top of tuition. "

"Dear God," Solo invoked fervently. "I've been dating a nun with a rap sheet."

"You look like you're going to faint," she observed with concern and refilled his wine glass. "I'm not a nun; I am a sister with a teaching order. And the arrest was a bum rap."

"But how-why-"

"Oh, I was quite the rebel in high school," she teased lightly. "I wanted to enlist divine power to change the world. Instead, it changed me. I got a scholarship from the sect and just sort of-painted by number. Bells and silence... at first it was comforting, then it became-well, confining. I began to wonder if I'd chosen a life, or just drifted into one. Time came for my commitment ceremony, and I panicked."

"Mercy-" he reached for her hands across the table. "Don't go back."

She tried to pull her hands away. "I'm not a go-with-the-flow gal, Napoleon," she warned him. "I need to make, and keep, strong commitments."

"Get an extension," he urged. "This is your whole life we're talking about. Mine too. Surely if you're not certain, you should take more time..."

She had a low, throaty chuckle. "What I need is a retreat from your influence. Even when I left school, I always assumed it was simply a break. I always thought I'd go back and continue my work. But now...it's so complicated..."

"More complicated than you know," he slumped. " I have no right to ask you to turn your life inside out. We've both answered a higher calling, loyal to a cause greater than our personal pleasure. You and I understand sacrifice-that for our lives to be meaningful, we serve. And yet-" he sighed." I'm sorry. It was just a selfish impulse."

"If I stay, Napoleon," she began slowly, " IF I stay, it will have to be because this is where I can serve best. No matter what your intentions are. Do we understand that?"

"Agreed." He shook her hand solemnly. Then he planted tiny kisses all the way up her arm to her shoulder.

Mercy shivered. "You do not play fair, Mr. Solo."

"I always play to win. More wine? Suddenly I'm ravenous."

finis?


End file.
